Unwrapping Holly: (3 page)

“One last kiss,” he said, sliding his hands into the silky strands of her hair and brushing his lips over hers. “I’ll be here tomorrow night,” he said. “Same time.” He released her, didn’t give her time to say good-bye. “I’d really like it if you were here, too.”

She inhaled, pulling her coat around her. “I . . . might. . . . I’ll think about it.”

Knowing he could do nothing more than hope she really did think about it, rather than running scared, he cast her a lingering inspection and then inclined his head. “Happy Thanksgiving, Holly.” He turned away then, ready to find a cold shower, which he hoped like hell he wouldn’t be repeating tomorrow night.

“Wait!” she called after him.

He turned to her and she stared at him as if she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. Then she said, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Between now and the next evening, she could certainly talk herself out of seeing him again, but right now, in this moment, she wasn’t willing to turn him down. He smiled, satisfaction rumbling through him.

Upon arriving home from the bar the night before, Holly had been greeted at the door by her parents, who were eager to tuck her into Grandma Reddy’s cottage for her monthlong writing sabbatical. There had been hugs and kisses, and promises of peace and quiet to help her meet her deadline. They hadn’t mentioned their hanky-panky in the pantry, and Holly certainly hadn’t mentioned the naughty encounter in the bar.

But Cole wasn’t so easily dismissed. Holly’s bed had seen far more action last night than any bed she’d graced in a good long while. Too bad it was all fictional. Well, fictional, except for a little self-satisfaction. After all, the man had left her near orgasm, and needing release. A girl had to do what she had to do. Orgasm hadn’t been hard to achieve either, with a plethora of hot images filling the fantasy cinema in her mind. Cole holding her, kissing her. Touching her nipples. Oh yes, touching her nipples. She remembered all too well how he’d stroked them with his fingers. How he pressed that hard body of his close to hers, his hips nuzzled against hers, his thick erection pressed against her stomach. She could only imagine what it would be like to have that hot, hard man inside her. And so she imagined it, over and over.

Holly sighed and rested her elbows on the wooden kitchenette counter, ignoring the notebook computer in front of her. The decadent acts of pleasure that the imaginary version of Cole had performed on her had been far-reaching and spectacular, and had occupied her evening with anything
but
sleep. The last time Holly had glanced at the clock, it had been four a.m., and that had been a good thirty minutes after she’d thrown a blanket over the display so she would stop watching the minutes click by.

Still in her pj’s and slipper socks, Holly fidgeted with one of the red-and-white floral place mats, rather than with her keyboard. Her gaze lingered on the fireplace only a few feet away with its crackling red-and-blue flames—far easier on the eyes than the white page of a nearly blank document.

With a frustrated grumble, Holly shoved her hands through her already rumpled hair, and murmured, “What is your problem?” But she knew the answer, the reason for her distraction—at least for today’s lack of production. She had no excuse for the many other unproductive days. Cole’s kiss, his touch, his invitation to see him again tonight—all were wreaking havoc on her mind.

A knock sounded on the door, saving her from the reality of the keyboard. Her mother poked her head in the door. “Hey, sweetie,” she said. “I’m not interrupting some great creative moment, am I?”

Holly snorted as she waved her mom inside. “I don’t even remember what a creative moment feels like.” She slumped against the cushion tied to the chair’s back.

Margaret stepped inside, holding a large Tupperware container in her hands. “You just got here. Give it time.” The wind caught the door and flung it wide open. The winter elements charged through the opening. “You could always hop on Dad’s snowmobile and hit the trails out back. That’ll clear your head.”

Holly rushed forward to yank the door shut, the cold bite of winter slicing through her thin tank top. She’d enjoyed the miles of country trails surrounding the house in her youth. Her Texas blood was just too thin for that now. “No to the snowmobile. I’m so out of practice, I’d probably skid right into the iced-over duck pond.” She hugged herself as she turned to her mother, teeth chattering. “Good gosh, it’s cold out there.”

“Record-breaking cold this year is the word on the television.” Her mother disposed of the Tupperware on the countertop and then removed her gloves and her hat, and shook out her long silver hair. Smiling, she opened the container on the counter and displayed the scrumptious, chocolate-pecan bread inside. “I brought you some motivation.”

“Oh my God, you didn’t! I
love
that stuff. I’m going to gain ten pounds on this trip, I can tell already.”

“Brought the lemon butter you love, too,” Margaret bragged, slicing the bread and retrieving two plates from the overhead counter. “Let’s go sit and chat. I’ve missed my oldest daughter.”

Holly reclaimed her chair, happily accepting her plate. After spreading the slice with lemon butter, she took a bite. She shut her eyes in pure delight. “Oh yeah. Perfect.” Before last night she might have called it better than sex. Laughter bubbled from Margaret’s throat. “I’d put all of Grandma’s recipes together for the family, but no one but me cooks. I guess cooking for one doesn’t make much sense.”

“Don’t start with the marriage-settling-down talk, Mom,” Holly admonished, “because right now, finishing this book is the only thing on my mind.” And having the orgasm with Cole she’d missed the night before.

“I worry about you down there in Texas all alone,” Margaret stated.

“I have high standards,” Holly commented, patting her mom’s hand. “Grandma and Grandpa were so happy. You and Dad are
obviously
happy.” She couldn’t resist teasing. “You can’t even check a pie without him by your side. And here I wondered what you two would do with all your time after retirement.” After two decades of teaching at the nearby college, they’d both retired this past August.

“Oh good gosh, Holly,” Margaret said, blushing like a schoolgirl. “Please don’t say anything to the rest of the kids. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I . . . well.” She waved her hands a bit helplessly. “Your father has just been so darned . . . feisty.”

Holly’s lips quivered with a hint of a smile as she held back laughter. “A little ‘Viva Viagra,’ as the commercials say, Mom?”

“Holly! ” she exclaimed. “Stop that. And why must you assume Viagra is involved? Give your mom some credit, will you?” She managed a serious look all of two seconds before they both exploded into a good minute of laughter. Margaret wiped her watering eyes. “I cannot believe I am having this conversation with my daughter.”

“Your thirty-year-old daughter,” Holly reminded her. “I’m way past little girl and more than a little pleased to see you and Dad happy.”

Margaret grew serious. “Your father was hurting after Grandma died. But we stumbled onto love letters that Grandpa had sent Grandma and read them all together. It sparked something in us.” She shrugged. “Or maybe it was the wish I made on Grandma’s ruby. She always said it was magical.”

“Ruby?” Holly’s brows dipped. “The ruby that Grandpa gave Grandma?”

“Yes,” Margaret said, pushing to her feet and walking to the mantel where the brilliant four-inch stone rested on a gold stand, still in the place Grandma had kept it. She turned to Holly, holding it in her hands, the fire crackling behind her. “Do you remember the story behind the gift?”

Holly shook her head. “I just remember it was special.”

“Special, indeed,” Margaret agreed, sitting down beside Holly and placing the ring in its cradle in the center of the table. “And so very romantic.”

“It’s lovely,” Holly said, and since romance was in short supply for her right now, she figured she might as well live vicariously through her grandparents. She propped her elbows on the table and slid her chin to her hands. “Tell me the story, Mom.”

A sad smile touched Margaret’s lips. “Grandpa was drafted to war before they were able to marry. He gave Grandma the ruby on Christmas day as a sign of his love, promising it held the magic of love and would ensure his return. He came home and they lived fifty happy years together.”

Holly sighed. “Now that’s what I call romance.”

“Isn’t it?” her mother asked, agreeing. “Grandma cherished that stone as if it held a piece of your Grandfather’s heart. She believed it held the magic of love, you know. That if you held it and made a wish, it would come true.” Her mother smiled mischievously. “And now someone else is going to get to experience all that magic.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come Christmas, it will be gifted to someone, as it was to her.” Holly’s eyes went wide. “That’s why her will was so specific about us being together this Christmas?”

“Yes,” Margaret agreed. “That’s when Grandma wants the big announcement made—the fate of the stone.”

“Surely she would leave it to Dad,” Holly commented.

“Grandma was a romantic,” Margaret reminded her. “She will want it to go to someone who will see it as special, the way she did. Your father would cherish it because it was hers, not because of its magic.”

Holly tightened her grip on her mug. “Oh please, say it’s not me, Mom, because we both know how the others will react.” In her youth, her goal of law school had meant responsibility, as had her role as oldest sibling and frequent babysitter—a duty that had often kept her from dating and socializing. “They always think I get special treatment as the oldest. I don’t want to deal with that. If my name is in that envelope, please change it. Say someone else gets the stone. Say Dad gets it.”

“You were kids. Of course they accused you of getting extra attention because you were in charge. We’d never have managed the university’s demands without your help. We asked a lot of you, and you never complained.”

“I saved the complaints for my friends,” Holly quickly offered, not willing to be made into some sort of angel. “But I complained, Mom.”

Margaret waved that off. “My point is—if a little magic, or romance, or whatever you might call it, comes your way, you’re deserving, Holly.”

“I don’t want it,” Holly stated, shaking her head. Her mother started to wave off her words yet again, and Holly added, “I’m serious, Mom. I don’t want it.”

“It’s not your decision,” she stated firmly, pushing to her feet to carry her plate to the kitchen. “The recipient of Grandma’s gift will be revealed on Christmas morning.” She set her dishes in the sink. “Why not enjoy the ruby until then? Maybe it will bring you luck.” She smiled mischievously. “Or romance.”

Half an hour later, Margaret had bundled up and left Holly to her deadline woes. After throwing some wood on the fire, Holly curled into her chair in front of her computer and took a bite of her sinfully delicious bread, thinking of another sinfully delicious distraction—Cole. Her mother didn’t understand, of course, that the last thing Holly needed, with a deadline fast approaching, was romance. But then, her mother did have one important point—Holly needed some raw, emotional energy to fill her pages. She’d attacked life with a structured plan: a certain GPA to achieve, a certain college to attend, a legal career—and a man who would fit the model that felt appropriate to her life.

All that planning and none of it had made her happy. Which left Holly with a need to discover who she really was, besides a writer. Much like the heroine, Tabitha Moore, in her work in progress. A by-the-books attorney and control freak, Tabitha is forced into hiding by a deadly killer; then she finds herself in close quarters with a mysteriously sexy stranger, Luke Sterling, a renegade FBI agent. Despite her better judgment, Tabitha begins an erotic, dangerous ride with the agent. Yep. That was the plan. If only the pages would fill themselves with brilliance.

In her mind, Holly was Tabitha; their personalities were alike. She smiled. Cole was her renegade, a man who didn’t fit the conventions of the world she’d built for herself. Interesting . . .

Seeing Cole again would be research. Work. A good way to feed her creative juices. She bit her bottom lip. Did she dare do this? Did she dare see Cole again? There would be nothing to pull her away from him this time, no family commitment. No job to get to the next morning. Nothing to keep her from finding out if he was really as good as her midnight fantasies conjured him to be. And that’s what this had to be about—work mixed with a one-night fantasy—something she didn’t indulge in.

And why not? Why didn’t she ever indulge in fun fantasies? She wasn’t an attorney working around the clock to become a partner, worried about fitting into their perfect mold. She didn’t even want to fit into the mold she’d formed
for herself
way back when.

Holly made her decision. Cole was exciting, and both her book and her body were in desperate need of some excitement. She grimaced. Of course, there was a strong possibility that Cole wouldn’t live up to her dreams. Her track record of failed relationships was pretty darned rock solid. But even the slight chance that Cole would be different . . . well, that chance had her reaching for the ruby.

Holly held the ruby in her palm and made a wish.
Please let this be a smart choice.
Okay. Boring wish. Not a fantasy worth wishing. She refocused.
Please let Cole be as sinfully good in bed as my fantasies— please let him be
that good
.
Laughter bubbled from Holly’s lips. Right. Like the ruby could decide his prowess. No. The pleasure would have to be all about the man. And Holly was going to enjoy demanding full disclosure.